


Right This Time (Or, Five Times They Missed Each Other, and Once They got it Right)

by dem_hips



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-23
Updated: 2010-12-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dem_hips/pseuds/dem_hips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a (self-imposed) Christmas Carol challenge, based on The Waitresses' "Christmas Wrapping."  A look at Austria and Hungary through the ages, at Christmastime.  Numbers correspond to the numbered footnotes at the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right This Time (Or, Five Times They Missed Each Other, and Once They got it Right)

( _circa_ 909 AD)

“Haha, what do you think you’re doing?”

The young nation’s violet eyes snapped up, wide in horror, as the intricate cross he had been weaving was snapped from his hands.  Hungary stood over him, holding the little trinket close to his eyes to examine its tawny, dull color between strands of bangs very nearly the same hue.  “What’s this supposed to be?  Huh?”

He muttered something unintelligible, watching his little creation desperately, as if in doing so he could keep it intact.

“Hey now, hey now, speak up, will you!”  Chuckling, Hungary leaned a foot on his back, shoving his shoulder towards the ground as easily as his army had crushed those Germanic lands not many months ago.  Austria groaned despite himself, feeling the pain shoot across his collarbone and down his arm as the pressure on his back bore him further into the hard, cold ground.

“It’s a cross,” he repeated reluctantly.  Ducking his head, he feared losing eye contact with the little bauble might allow the stronger nation to break it.

“A cross?  What in the world for?  What a waste of time!”

“It’s nearly Christmas,” Austria pleaded, daring to steal a glance at him. “I just—”

“Oh, _Christmas_!  Oh, _dear me_!”  Laughing nastily, Hungary leaned down to sneer at him, the woven straw cross clenched precariously in his hand.  “That’s right, you fell for that Christianity bullshit all that time ago [1], didn’t you, _Austria~_?”  He stretched out the weaker nation’s name mockingly and tightened his grip on the little charm.  “Fat lot a’good that did you, huh?  Hahaha!”

“No, wait!”

Hungary tore the little cross to pieces with ease, letting the bits of straw flurry about his head like snowflakes.  He sniffled and caught one, peering at it woefully within his thin fingers.

“Luca’s gonna turn your brain into oakum if you’re not careful, _kisfiú_ [2],” he grinned, and with a final push to the smaller nation’s shoulder, Hungary turned and walked away, whistling an awful, tuneless thing that sounded like clucking chickens [3].

 

\----

 

( _circa_ 1750 AD)

The nearest Austria ever got to celebrating Christmas that year was directing the huge pine into the foyer and overseeing as white candles were placed in its boughs.  Deliberately-dripped pure white wax marked their specified locations and held them in place, in just the right spots so as to keep the wicks lit but out of the way of other branches, to prevent the entire tree from going up into flames.  And then he retreated into his office and would only come out for meals, or to sleep—and as time went on he even began taking his supper within the dark confines of that small room, working late into the night by the light of a single candle stub.  The only breaks he took were to move to his piano bench and play, but the pieces were melancholy things, or streams of frantic chords that soon cut off, as if the fingers plying those keys were too exhausted to continue.  More than once Hungary found Italy sneaking in to attempt to draw a blanket over the young aristocrat’s shoulders, and, shaking her head with no small measure of reluctance, she had helped him along with the task.

At times, she wished one of the tree limbs would catch fire, just so he would leave off his work for once and get out of that stuffy old office.

When he did leave, they did not take their meals together.  He ate with the heads of state, with kings and queens primarily in years when the Habsburgs were in control—with Holy Roman Empire, when he was around—while she and Italy sat in the scullery with heavy crockery balanced on their knees.  This year was no different.

At first, Hungary didn’t mind.  On the contrary, her first century or two here, she figured a meal between them would have meant broken china at the very least, maybe a concussion if she managed to hit him square in the skull like she wanted for dragging her into this ridiculously pompous house and causing her to trade armor for kitchen skirts.  But lately…ah.  Ah, lately.

Perhaps it was just the Christmas spirit.  On December 2nd, she told herself that was all it was, this stirred emotion of something less-than-hatred she had begun to feel towards him.  She told herself that it was nothing but that feeling of joy at the sight of a first snow and the feeling of warmth at the images of candles burning merrily in windows, spots of bright cozy light in this season of cold darkness.  She nearly had herself convinced that nothing but those placid feelings were causing her heart to melt towards him.  But twenty-two days later, when for the fifth time she found herself carrying a soft down blanket into his office, she took a glance around and could no longer lie to herself.

Official documents mingled with sheets of music in scattered disarray around the room, though at least kept safe from the stack of dirty supper dishes piled uncharacteristically haphazardly in a corner.  The nation himself dozed fitfully at his desk, cheek resting atop crossed arms, hair mussed, the stern features of his waking self softened now into an expression of weariness he would never willingly show another soul.  Hungary tried not to look at his face, tried not to think about how many days it had been since she had last heard strains from his piano leaking out from behind that closed door.  She tried, but she got too close to him, and her hands gripped the edge of the blanket powerfully before eventually loosening to settle the warm comfort about his shoulders.  There was nothing much left she could do.  He avoided her but to give her instruction, lately even going out of his way to pass his orders to her through Italy.  She performed her duties as best she could, but even that did not seem to relieve him of the tension that plagued him day after day.  It seemed the only time she could offer him any sort of comfort was when he slept.

He looked so vulnerable.  Not the way he used to, when she and Prussia would take turns kicking him around until Switzerland stepped in to save his sorry behind and tend his wounds; this was a weary, exhausted vulnerability, the kind with which he might snap in two if he tried to take on anything else.  Gingerly, she lowered the blanket over him without her fingers brushing against the rich, frayed fabrics of his collars and took a step back, watching as he seemed to hunch just a mite further under its weight.

Hungary put her hand to her apron pocket, where a long, thin box sat oddly heavily, for only housing a new quill pen.[4]  It was something for which she had been saving every spare coin, and though she removed the container she had no need to open it to know it would be an exceptional replacement for the worn version of itself resting lightly in Austria’s paused hand.  Her own fingers trembled now as she held it before her chest, watching him sleep, his one errant hair bobbing with every minute motion of his head when he shifted.

When had it come to this?

Frozen, she stared at him, the way his mouth twitched further into a frown under the influence of some restless nightmare.  He used to be her punching bag, a mere speck at her feet—or more recently, something to loathe, a face to put on her mortification at her…well, what she used to consider almost imprisonment.

When had this dress and this apron she wore stopped making her feel so much like a servant?  When had that loathing turned into respect, and respect into…

She clutched the box harder, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.  “No way I can leave this box here!” she whispered to herself suddenly, clutching it harder. “Not…not now, I should wait!  Yes, wait until he’s…”  Awake.  The word went unsaid, but in her mind she could still hear the disappointment that went along with it.  As if he had time to accept a gift while he was awake.

“Ugh, I can’t just leave this here, you know,” she told his sleeping form, which somehow seemed less crazy than talking to herself. “With my luck you’ll never even notice it.  It’ll get lost in this stupid mess you’ve caged yourself in.  Damn, but this was a bad idea.  Terrible.  The worst!”

Hungary’s face twisted into a frustrated grimace as she fought with her options.  This was stupid, she thought, getting all messed up like this over him.  Over a silly little gift.  Like he didn’t have eighty more quills just like this, waiting to be used when the current one crumbled into dust in his hand, the stupid penny-pinching man.  She ought to…

“I ought to just leave it right in front of your nose!  Wouldn’t you feel just horrible for not using a gift right away!  Yes!  Yes, that’s what I’ll do!”  It took all her self-control to place the box down gently instead of slamming it with her sudden burst of assertiveness, and even more to pry her fingers from the lid.  It was a nightmare walking out of the room with nothing but a single backward glance.  But once she shut the door behind herself and leaned against it, relief washed over her, and she paused before standing upright.  There.  There, done.  That…that wasn’t so hard, was it?  Just a small gift on Christmas Eve.  It felt…good.  Right.  She got to her feet as soon as possible, before the urge to rush in and snatch the box back again became too strong.

Her heels clicked smartly as she walked back down the hallway, allowing herself a small smile before pursing her lips and whistling quietly—not one of his recent gloomy pieces, but a happier tune Italy had begun picking out of his piano while the aristocrat was busy in another part of the house.

He never mentioned the gift to her, and she never could tell if the new quill that showed up in his hand weeks later were indeed the one she had purchased.

 

\----

 

( _circa_ 1900 AD)

The one thing Hungary could not stand was how perfect it all was.  Holly, everywhere, bright red berries arranged in unnatural elegance against sharp, delicate leaves; ribbons of deep red and gold twining between the boughs down the halls, wrapping gracefully around staircases and framing windows.  A scent of evergreen permeated each and every room, and its source…  Oh, the tree.  It towered in the foyer, larger than any she could remember from Holy Roman Empire’s house, replete with the thinnest strands of silver, artisan-crafted glass ornaments, and expertly-placed candles that flickered each time someone walked past.  Almost around the clock now, beautiful strains of _Stille Nacht_ [5] or _O Tannenbaum_ or some other festive song filtered down from the piano room as Austria prepared for countless concerts.

It was perfect, and everyone who entered marveled at its perfection, and all she could do was smile, and nod, and give the daintiest of laughs when all she really wanted to do was throw perfect, hand-painted, hand-blown glass ornaments at the heads of all their visitors until they ran in terror from the house.

If she couldn’t get out, at least they could.

In public, at meetings of their bosses or of their own kind, the two were much the same as the inside of their house.  Austria was the perfect gentleman, helping her from their carriage and shielding her on the proper side from wind and snow—and she, the genteel lady, drifted gracefully on his outstretched hand alone into their conference hall.  Both were clad in such extravagance that one was willing to overlook the patches barely visible against their clothing, and in any case Hungary often found she was too breathless in her forced hourglass figure to call attention.  To other nations they were the perfect marriage, the model of international relations; to their bosses, an assurance that all was as it should be, that no factor threatening to crack this decades-long alliance was of any particular significance.

“All is well,” said the flourish of his coattails as he pulled out a seat for her.  “All is well,” said the straight pride of her back as she sat, ignoring hungry glances from Prussia, from France, from other nations around the room. “You cannot hope to touch this, you cannot hope to break this.”

“ _Stille nacht, heil’ge nacht_ ,” sang his piano through the perfection of their home, but what he really meant was, “The Habsburgs will rise again, you will not keep me down, this is only a minor setback.”

And day in, day out, he strove to send this message to the world.  Perfect chords, perfect house, perfect union, perfect life, perfect comeback.  Perfect, perfect, perfect.  For twenty-five days that month, Hungary fell asleep alone in their wide bed, whistling with ever-shaking breath along with his piano: “ _Stille nacht, heil’ge nacht_.”  The last six she fell asleep alone in their wide bed, whistling silence.

 

\----

 

(1938 AD)

Austria had always been somewhat of a weakling, if she allowed herself to consider it; even the Habsburg dynasty had been built more on strategy and cunning political moves than on raw power.  A sharp intelligence was something the nation had grown into in time, but the one thing Hungary always hated about him was how quickly he surrendered when all his well-made plans fell to pieces.

These days she saw little of him, even less than after their divorce, when political tension was a strong deterrent against them meeting, and when she did, she wished she hadn’t.

It was not the raggedness of his clothes—that of servitude [6] rather than of thriftiness—nor the tangles in unkempt hair nor the involuntary shaking of his hands that caused her the greatest measure of sadness.  It was not even the cuts and bruises that seemed to migrate back and forth across his face between each time she spotted him.  It was that the sparkle was gone from his eyes.  Even in the darkest days, at the end of the Great War, when he felt their divorce and his own decline imminent, when he felt his own impotence acutely, the barest glint of hope still remained in the violet of his irises and the black of his pupils, hope that maybe something, someone, would come along and fix what had caused the world to begin to fracture.  Fear-induced trembling, war-wounds, threadbare, outdated clothes—these were all things under which he had suffered before, from which he had recovered before, but the look in his eyes ruined him.

On the rare occasions when their eyes met, when they found themselves close enough to talk, he spoke softly, briefly, inquiring into her health while waving off any question after his own, and Hungary remembered with distinct clarity what exactly it was about him that used to infuriate her so.  But now more than anything it just made her sad, watching him, listening to him duck out of questions as if to answer them would mean losing a last vital part of himself.  And perhaps, she soon realized, it would—for where Austria strayed, Germany was never far behind.  And lately the blonde nation who used to be so young and innocent had begun watching her in a way Hungary did not like, not at all.

Austria began avoiding her gaze, as if hoping to throw Germany off her scent, though it wouldn’t work, they both knew it wouldn’t work, and Hungary began to grow desperate, for his sake if not for her own.

She stopped trying to speak with him, fearing what retribution it would cause.

To call Christmas in Vienna that year “threadbare” would have been more misstatement than understatement.  It really was not the proper word for the vehemence with which Germany’s new boss had distorted the traditional festivities, it could not encompass the horrid chill that ran down Hungary’s spine when she ran across the freshly-painted blonde heads and blue eyes of Mary and Jesus in the manger, the swastikas that had taken their places atop tall firs, the children’s toys that were mere miniature versions of the weapons their elder brethren used to play with people’s lives [7].  About the only thing that sparkled more in Austria that year than the last were the tiny shards of glass still lying about in the streets as reminders of festivities of a different kind, over a month ago [8].  Like the nation himself, his people seemed to have lost something bright in their hearts.  They scuffled along their daily business, hurrying to get to their destinations as soon as humanly possible to avoid being caught in the streets.  “ _Es ist für uns eine Zeit angekommen, es ist für uns eine große Gnad’_ ,” [9] she whistled to them—to _him_ —under her breath, but Germany’s boss had corrupted this, too, and the hopeful nuances in her tones were lost.

 

\----

 

(1955 AD)

Austria knew enough to be grateful for what little retaliation he had experienced from the Allied Nations.  Somehow, being Germany’s boss’s “first victim” suddenly turned in his favor, and his punishment went mostly overlooked in favor of divisions and occupations elsewhere.  Germany was hurting, bleeding slowly into the hands of the Allies.  Japan was under constant watch.  And Prussia had gone missing, disappeared under USSR’s heavy, dark coat.  He was not the only one.

The wind whipped past him, stinging his bare cheeks with a sparse smattering of flurries as he huddled deeper into his threadbare coat and scarf.  Only a few yards away, a short, wrought-iron fence stood at his border with Hungary, and it mocked him.  It was small enough to step over without too much difficulty, and yet there was a watch-post not too far off, topped with a gunman [10] like the deranged Christmas trees with which he had at one point grown accustomed, and he felt sure that the moment his foot crossed the border, USSR would know it.

Still, he came here as often as he could manage, watching across the border, waiting for a sign that she was alright.  In the last days before her surrender, she had been a wreck, a puppet fighting on strings—a human shield that was wearing out its usefulness.  In her eyes had been pure frenzy, a corruption of her usual passion that used to whistle hope fiercely at him at a time when he had lost all semblance of its meaning.  He had watched that frenzy force her hand against an insurmountable nation, and he had watched as she lost herself to both.  And that was the last he had seen of her.

Austria shivered and pulled his coat closer about his shoulders.  Ten years, it had been.  Ten years, and what little he had been hearing about her involved resistance and rebellion and uprisings.  And the more he heard of them, the more he knew they were unsuccessful.

Why did he bother standing out here in the cold, night after night?  She never appeared, not to him, and now on Christmas night of all nights, why would she choose to break her streak?  Celebrations under Communist rule were bound to be limited, but Austria knew that would not stop her people, much less Hungary herself.  She would be leading a quiet revolt that night, he imagined, his eyes falling closed, locked in a church with the bravest of her people, singing hymns until the first rays of sun hinted that the holiday was officially over.  The wind whistled in his ears and he tricked himself into hearing it comprehend notes, melodies hailing a chorus of angels descending from heaven.

His eyes snapped open, and—it was dark, but the watch-tower’s lights lent some luminescence—there was a figure meters away, eyes wide and hunted as it skulked through a stand of trees.  The melody kept up, even as the figure’s head turned this way and that, watching for followers in long, cold coats with cruel, child-like smiles.

“Hungary—!” he called, forgetting himself.  Her head snapped up, the whistling falling short mid-note, and before he could even hold up a hand to try and stop her, she fled back into the trees with a crash so loud it startled the squatting, snoozing guard atop the watch-tower.  The night fell silent once more.  Heart pounding madly in his chest, Austria turned and walked, bewildered, back home.

 

\----

 

(23 December, 2010)

“And so we are coming to the end of another year.”  The blonde nation paused to slide his reading glasses further up the bridge of his nose as he glanced at his notes.  “It is a convenient time to reflect back on what advances we have made over the course of the year and what many things we still have left to accomplish.  We began the year with Spain succeeding the Presidency of the European Union—”

“And then _Bélgica_ took over, and she is doing a wonderful job, ¿ _sí_?” Spain said brightly, leaning his chin on his hand with a pleased smile.

“Oi, will you shut the hell up?!” demanded South Italy from beside him. “The more you interrupt the longer we have to sit here and listen to this potato asshole yack—”

“Oh, Lovi…”  Spain’s face fell.  “Be nice, won’t you?”

“Fuck you!”

“CAN WE PLEASE—” Germany interrupted suddenly, catching everyone’s attention. “…get back to the matter at hand?”  The meeting settled down again, and the large nation at the front of the conference hall cleared his throat to continue.

Hungary yawned deeply behind a hand and glanced over to shoot an annoyed look to her right, where South Italy was grumbling something about potatoes and wurst and idiots, and Spain was attempting to placate him.

This was going to be a long day.

Over the heads of the two nations, Hungary’s eyes met Austria’s, and his quiet gaze held her captive until the mention of her name snapped her out of some mindless reverie.

“—nine days, for the first time, Hungary will be taking up the presidency.  I believe I speak on behalf of the Union when I wish you the best of luck.”  His piercing blue gaze sent a shot of nerves through her before Belgium waved at her from across the room.

“Don’t worry, _Hongarije_ , I’ll take good care of you!”

Any response beyond a smile was interrupted suddenly by a loud voice near the front of the room.  “Hey, okay, great, that’s all well and good for you guys, but there’s more to the world than Europe, you know!”

“Oh you’re one to bloody talk,” England snapped, but America’s golden head had already popped up as he jumped from his seat to join Germany at the front of the hall.

“Let’s move this along, huh?  Some of us have places we need to be!”

“Late Christmas shopping again, aru?” China spoke up from his seat with a self-satisfied smile. “Looks like I will be bailing you out as usual!”

“If you celebrated Christmas at the proper time,” Russia interjected, ignoring the way America’s face paled, “you would still have several weeks left, da?”

“Why don’t you, like, leave your backwards ways of celebrating things to yourself, you big weirdo?” Poland shot at him from a safe distance halfway down the same aisle.

“QUIET!” Germany bellowed, slamming his hands down on the podium before him. “America, will you _please._ _Sit.  Down._ ”

“Hey, I was just trying to get things moving!” the bright-eyed nation protested, grinning. “You’re gonna put everyone to sleep at the pace you were going!”

Germany gritted his teeth but narrowed his eyes at America, appraisingly.  “If you hold such an issue with the subject matter, America, perhaps you’d like us to discuss something a little more relevant to you?”

“Hey, sounds like a great idea!  So how ‘bout me overturning that Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy—”

“Shall I begin with your economical issues, or the fact that you continue to sabotage your own education system?  Or maybe you’d like to discuss your health care reform ide—”

“Alright, _okay_!  I get it, I get it, _God_!”  America groaned and sank back into his seat.  “Get on with your timeline already!”

“Thank you.  Now, as I was saying…”

Hungary found herself begin to zone out.  Honestly, Germany had to be insane if he thought that he could maintain control over the world’s attention this close to the holidays—and it seemed she was not the only one to think so.  To her left, France was focused intently on what looked like a page-and-a-half-long menu, and beyond him, Japan was lending Germany less than his usual attention, pouring over a large stack of order forms.  Some nations near the back of the room (and some braver ones nearer to the front) were nodding off, and, Hungary noted with surprise as she glanced back to her right, even Austria’s eyes were glazing over.  The end of the year was stressful for them all.  Even Germany seemed less invested in his own proceedings—or else Hungary had dozed briefly without noticing—for he finished up in record time and banged a gavel on the podium to end the meeting.  She felt sure without it, no one would have known when to get up.

Chatter bounced throughout the conference hall, overriding the tall nation’s closing hope for everyone’s safe and happy Christmas, as the nations of the world gathered their belongings and headed out into the cold to go home, for they all had work awaiting them at their own places.  As France took off from her side to go accost some poor unsuspecting nation, Hungary moved slowly, taking her time.  The halls would be crowded for several minutes anyway; there was no need to add to it.  Besides, as well as looking out of focus, Austria’s eyes had seemed weary in a way that reminded her of harder times, bigger trials than end-of-the-year reports.  It made her worry.

By the time Hungary finished packing her things up in a sleek black briefcase, she glanced up just in time to find the dark-haired nation fending off France with a dismissive hand and muttered excuses, and she slid in to intercede.

“ _Fran_ cis,” she purred pointedly, taking him by the shoulder. “Causing trouble again I see?”

France laughed, genteel, and placed a hand over hers as he smoothly turned to face her.  “My dear Miss Hungary,” he said, and suddenly the back of her hand was at his lips, “when do I _ever_ cause trouble?”

“Oh goodness, never!  I don’t know _what_ I was thinking!”  With a resigned smile and a shake of her head, she nodded over her shoulder at Austria, who took his chance to escape with a deeply appreciative nod of his head.

“Ah…”  France seemed to deflate a little as the other nation fled in as dignified a manner as possible.  “I suppose we will have to do without our friend’s talents for the evening.”

“What do you mean?”  He loosened his grip, and she took back her hand.

“A Christmas party, _mon chèrie_!” he exclaimed, delight building up in his expression and voice once again. “I have been planning it for weeks!”  France glanced up at the ceiling, eyes sparkling with images dancing in his head.  “Imagine it!  Music, dancing, the best in food and wine my house has to offer!  Lavish decorations, and the biggest Christmas tree this side of the Atlantic Ocean!  It will be the greatest Christmas celebration in recent memory, grand enough to put our minds at ease after all of Germany’s worrying!  Who but _la République française_ could pull it off, I ask you?” he finished, sliding the smoothest of smiles her way over his shoulder. “Now tell me, my dear, when can I expect you?”

Hungary sighed with the briefest of smiles and shook her head again, already regretting the way it made his face fall.  “It all sounds so exciting, France, and I’d love to, but I—”

“Ah, you are breaking my heart!” he warned, placing a hand on his chest over the threatened organ.

“This is one of the first Christmases I can remember having the chance to just be able to relax,” she explained, apology tinting her voice. “Maybe next year?”

Instantly, the other nation brightened again.  “Next year I will only improve upon the recipe!” he promised, giving her a wink. “But I will hold you to that promise!”

“And I you,” she laughed. “Merry Christmas, France!”

“Merry Christmas, Hungary,” he replied as she turned to go, and behind her as she headed for the door, she heard him recover quickly from rejection.  “Ah, Spain, my friend!  You would never say no to me, would you?”

 

Christmas music from all over the world emitted from her computer like a string of multicultural lights as she prepared her usual holiday meal.  The scent of baking fish and cabbage and poppy seed beigli mingled with that of melting wax, dripping lightly from candles onto the bright red and white ribbons tied around them as she paced around the room, calm as anything, finishing the Christmas Eve preparations she had been making for centuries, decorations and a meal and a spirit that even something as silly as perhaps Communist occupation couldn’t eradicate from her.

As some obscure little American band [11] took the proverbial stage on her international radio station, she gave the oven a final peek before turning to root through her liquor cabinet, fingers eagerly searching for a particular bottle of Grüner Veltliner [12] she remembered receiving not too long ago…

“Oh no.”  Face falling, her eagerness turned just the teensiest bit frantic as now two hands rifled through the contents of the cabinet, searching for the bottle she could not remember finishing, and yet…

“Bet Gil got to it,” she grumbled, annoyance rising as she slowly began returning the other bottles to their places.  At first, she thought it was no big deal; it wasn’t as if the wine were an essential part of her set of traditions, and any other beverage would do just as well…but she _had_ been looking forward to it.  And the more she looked at everything else, the more she just wanted that one thing.

“It wouldn’t be the holiday season without some sort of stress, would it?” she laughed to herself, rising. “Well…”

The oven had only begun to work its magic on the raw ingredients she had just fed it.  All the stores would be closed tonight, she reminded herself as she reached for her coat, but she wondered if Austria weren’t in.  He had turned down France’s invitation, but did that mean he had somewhere else to be…?

Well, no matter.  Her keys jingled merrily in her pocket as she bundled herself up; she had other ways of getting in his house, even if he himself were not there.

Outside, a cold, light rain drizzled from the dark sky as she set out for his place; as she headed closer and closer to Vienna, she felt the wind grow colder by small measures, until the rain threatened to transform into snow.  But as she continued on and the weather turned ever colder, her heart was warmed by the growing luminescence as she crossed the border from the land of her people, who preferred to keep their lights inside their homes, to the that of his, who sent their Christmas cheer out to illuminate the dark, cold winter night.

In the distance, Vienna glowed brightest of all, distracting her with sparkling lights like stars.  She watched the radiant city as she walked, letting it keep her mind off the mix of snow and rain that soaked her hood.  Within that city, surely, Austria’s people were playing the most beautiful melodies freely, heralding them to any ear lucky enough to catch hold.  What a—

“Hungary?”

The voice speaking her name with confusion came from a few yards away, off to her left, by a traveler taking nearly the identical but opposing route as she.  He approached her when she stopped to look at him, matching her confused expression.  “What are you doing out here on Christmas Eve?”

“I could ask the same of you,” she replied in amusement, tucking her hands further down in her pockets as Austria moved to stand before her.

“Ahh…yes, well,” he began, his gaze darting around as it did when he was feeling nervous. “I was planning on spending a quiet Christmas alone at home…”

“Me too,” she grinned. “Oh, no wonder you looked so uncomfortable at France’s invitation yesterday!”

“…For the sake of diplomacy,” he responded after a pause, closing his eyes in feigned solemnity, “we will say that was the case, yes.”

She giggled quietly behind a hand, and briefly, he joined her in her amusement.  “Hmm, but that doesn’t explain why you have gone against your original plan to stay home,” she pointed out.

“As you say.”  Austria nodded, his dark, elegant eyebrows pressing together thoughtfully.  “It was my plan to supplement my holiday meal with a bottle of your excellent Tokaji [13], but I discovered to my dismay that I am fresh out.  It…seems a rather trivial matter now that I am standing out here in the cold,” he admitted, the color in his cheeks likely due to more than the weather, “but—”

He frowned as she interrupted him with a peal of silvery laughter.  “I…I’m sorry, I just…”  She had to stop to fight for control of her voice.  “I came to see if I could bother you for a bottle of your Grüner…it’s delightfully silly, isn’t it, Roderich?”

“If you wished to describe it as such, I admit I would have trouble arguing with you,” he consented, seeming a little relieved.

Hungary finally swallowed her laughter, though it showed up stark on her cold-flushed features in the way her eyes twinkled and in the way she smiled.  “Oh, why don’t you just come back with me?  Surely we two can manage to celebrate tonight without driving ourselves crazy with stress, right?  Nothing fancy, just…a calm night.  What do you say?”

“Ah, but,” he replied, his eyes darting around absently again, “I left supper to cook, it must be nearly done by now, and—”

“Well, bring it with you!  I’ll wait for you at home, and then we can eat together.”  Her eagerness extended out to him and caught his gaze, holding it steadily on her.  “Come on.  Being alone on Christmas really isn’t doing the holiday justice.”

After another moment of thought, he closed his eyes briefly in consent.  “Very well.”  Her triumphant cheer rang out through the night, echoing minutely off half-frozen raindrops.  “But get yourself home and warm up, will you?”

“You got it!  See you soon!”

He watched her turn cheerfully and begin to walk back, a bounce in her step now despite the cold.  After only a few steps, she pursed her chapped lips together and began to whistle, the slow melody of _Stille Nacht_ stretching out in the air between them even as he moved to head back home.  He stopped, glanced over his shoulder at her, and allowed himself the briefest of smiles.

“Sing, Elizaveta.  It suits these times much better.”

Her notes fell, cascading from the proverbial sheet of music, but as Austria moved to continue walking, she started up again, this time opening her mouth.  It was the same song, but mingled in with his original lyrics were parts in her own tongue, together at last in the winding runs of notes, fading into the distance as she returned home to wait for him.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Austria went Christian as early as the 4th century, while Hungary did not until the coronation of King Stephen I in 1000 AD
> 
> [2] Luca Day (Luca Nap) is an ancient Hungarian celebration of the Witch/Saint Luca, observed on December 13th. It involves many superstitions, including one that claims that anyone caught weaving or sewing by Luca on this day would have his or her brain replaced with oakum. It is one of several winter holidays in Hungary that pre-dates the religious celebration of Christmas. Kisfiú is Hungarian for “small boy.”
> 
> [3] During Luca Day, young men would go door to door, reciting a poem written to sound like clucking chickens, wishing the listener a prosperous year.
> 
> [4] At the end of the 18th century, the act of gift-giving was only just beginning to become a traditional Christmas activity, and I wanted to echo that in Hungary’s action here. I don’t see this as an act of “giving a Christmas present” so much as giving a gift to someone she (despite claims otherwise) cares for, someone who could use a spot of kindness in an otherwise stressful and tumultuous time.
> 
> [5] Stille Nacht, Heil’ge Nacht is the original German title of the Christmas carol we know as “Silent Night.” It was composed in 1818 by Franz Xaver Gruber and written by Father Josef Mohr, both Austrians.
> 
> [6] The Anschluss, the annexation of Austria by Nazi Germany, occurred in March of 1938.
> 
> [7] As part of his general propaganda campaign, Hitler made some choice changes to Christmas traditions, mostly attempting to remove many religious overtones. Nazi symbols replaced traditional Christmas ornaments, notably the star on top of the tree, as a six-pointed star was associated with Jews while a five-pointed star denoted Communism.
> 
> [8] Kristallnacht, arguably the most famous pogrom against Jews in history, occurred on November 9-10, 1938, in Germany and some parts of Austria.
> 
> [9] The first two lines of the original German “Unto us a time has Come.” In tune with Hitler’s propaganda campaign, Nazi poet Paul Hermann altered the original lyrics to make the song more secular.
> 
> [10] Though the famous fence dividing Austria and Hungary was only constructed after the Hungarian Uprising in 1956, efforts such as these were in place already to enforce the division between Western Europe and the Communist Bloc.
> 
> [11] The Waitresses are an indeed relatively obscure American band from the 70s and 80s whose only real claim to fame is the song around which this story is centered.
> 
> [12] A primarily Austrian white wine with high esteem, known for its ability to complement a variety of foods
> 
> [13] A definitively Hungarian golden wine


End file.
